The American common-place book of poetry with occasional notes |
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Address of the Sylph of Autumn to the Bard.—Washington Allston.
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 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
Address of the Sylph of Autumn to the Bard.—Washington Allston.
And now, in accents deep and low,
Like voice of fondly-cherished wo,
The Sylph of Autumn sad:
Though I may not of raptures sing,
That graced the gentle song of Spring,
Like Summer playful pleasures bring,
Thy youthful heart to glad:
Like voice of fondly-cherished wo,
The Sylph of Autumn sad:
Though I may not of raptures sing,
That graced the gentle song of Spring,
Like Summer playful pleasures bring,
Thy youthful heart to glad:
Yet still may I in hope aspire
Thy heart to touch with chaster fire,
And purifying love:
For I, with vision high and holy,
And spell of quick'ning melancholy,
Thy soul from sublunary folly
First raised to worlds above.
Thy heart to touch with chaster fire,
And purifying love:
For I, with vision high and holy,
And spell of quick'ning melancholy,
Thy soul from sublunary folly
First raised to worlds above.
What though be mine the treasures fair
Of purple grape, and yellow pear,
And fruits of various hue,
And harvests rich of golden grain,
That dance in waves along the plain
To merry song of reaping swain,
Beneath the welkin blue;
Of purple grape, and yellow pear,
And fruits of various hue,
And harvests rich of golden grain,
That dance in waves along the plain
To merry song of reaping swain,
Beneath the welkin blue;
With these I may not urge my suit,
Of Summer's patient toil the fruit,
For mortal purpose given;
Nor may it fit my sober mood
To sing of sweetly murmuring flood,
Or dies of many-colored wood,
That mock the bow of heaven.
Of Summer's patient toil the fruit,
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Nor may it fit my sober mood
To sing of sweetly murmuring flood,
Or dies of many-colored wood,
That mock the bow of heaven.
But, know, 'twas mine the secret power
That waked thee at the midnight hour,
In bleak November's reign:
'Twas I the spell around thee cast,
When thou didst hear the hollow blast
In murmurs tell of pleasures past,
That ne'er would come again;—
That waked thee at the midnight hour,
In bleak November's reign:
'Twas I the spell around thee cast,
When thou didst hear the hollow blast
In murmurs tell of pleasures past,
That ne'er would come again;—
And led thee, when the storm was o'er,
To hear the sullen ocean roar,
By dreadful calm oppressed;
Which still, though not a breeze was there,
Its mountain-billows heaved in air,
As if a living thing it were,
That strove in vain for rest.
To hear the sullen ocean roar,
By dreadful calm oppressed;
Which still, though not a breeze was there,
Its mountain-billows heaved in air,
As if a living thing it were,
That strove in vain for rest.
'Twas I, when thou, subdued by wo,
Didst watch the leaves descending slow,
To each a moral gave;
And, as they moved, in mournful train,
With rustling sound, along the plain,
Taught them to sing a seraph's strain
Of peace within the grave.
Didst watch the leaves descending slow,
To each a moral gave;
And, as they moved, in mournful train,
With rustling sound, along the plain,
Taught them to sing a seraph's strain
Of peace within the grave.
And then, upraised thy streaming eye,
I met thee in the western sky,
In pomp of evening cloud,
That, while with varying form it rolled,
Some wizard's castle seemed of gold,
And now a crimsoned knight of old,
Or king in purple proud.
I met thee in the western sky,
In pomp of evening cloud,
That, while with varying form it rolled,
Some wizard's castle seemed of gold,
And now a crimsoned knight of old,
Or king in purple proud.
And last, as sunk the setting sun,
And Evening, with her shadows dun,
The gorgeous pageant passed,
'Twas then of life a mimic show,
Of human grandeur here below,
Which thus beneath the fatal blow
Of Death must fall at last.
And Evening, with her shadows dun,
The gorgeous pageant passed,
'Twas then of life a mimic show,
Of human grandeur here below,
Which thus beneath the fatal blow
Of Death must fall at last.
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O, then, with what aspiring gaze
Didst thou thy tranced vision raise
To yonder orbs on high,
And think how wondrous, how sublime
'Twere upwards to their spheres to climb,
And live beyond the reach of Time,
Child of Eternity!
Didst thou thy tranced vision raise
To yonder orbs on high,
And think how wondrous, how sublime
'Twere upwards to their spheres to climb,
And live beyond the reach of Time,
Child of Eternity!
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